


Trust

by LuminousCorruption



Category: Political RPF - UK 21st c.
Genre: Barebacking, British Politics, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, Kink Meme, M/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-21
Updated: 2010-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 05:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminousCorruption/pseuds/LuminousCorruption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the lolitics prompt of Mandelborne barebacking. Peter and George have sex without condemns for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

"Are you sure about this, Gideon? If you're having second thoughts, dear, I really wouldn't mind-"  
"No, Peter, I'm sure. Besides-" George looked down at his hands, blushing. "I trust you. We've been together for over a year now, we've both been tested. I want this. I want _you_."

Peter smirked – if George was sure, he had no objections.  
"I think what you mean, darling, is you want me inside of you." He whispered into George's ear, pushing him backwards towards the bed with a firm hand on his chest. George swallowed, hard, and let himself be moved backwards until his knees hit the bed. Peter gave a firm push and George fell back, landing with a small bounce onto the navy sheets.

Peter slid onto the bed, far more gracefully than the splayed out George, who was watching him with wide brown eyes. Slowly and softly, Peter dragged two fingers across George's brow, behind the shell of his ear, along the nape of his neck and around to caress the hollow of this throat where his tie was normally knotted. It was something of a privilege, Peter noted, to have George like this; in a pair of soft cotton trousers and an old shirt with the top buttons undone just enough to expose the ivory hollow between his jutting collarbones. Very rarely was George seen without tie and cufflinks, his shirt fully buttoned. But for Peter-

Peter could strip him bare and wrench from him that cold, smug composure that acted as his armour. Peter could rip it from his body and leave him vulnerable and defenceless and wanton. The thought both terrified and excited him. Sometimes he had to remind himself that Peter wasn't his political opponent anymore, but his lover. Had to remind himself that he could trust Peter not to stockpile his secrets as ammunition. It was difficult, but he could do it, and with every day that passed it got a little easier.

Peter was sliding his hand further down, making short work of the buttons on George's shirt and sliding it from his shoulders. They travelled even further south, pausing to circle one hardening nipple then pinch the other, then rapidly unbuttoning the trousers and tugging the zip down.

George wanted to complain, wanted to protest that he was in his underwear while Peter was clad in a shirt and jeans. He opened his mouth and tried to do just that, but his protest was swallowed by a moan as -oh fuck- Peter curled his fingers around the bulge distending George's briefs and, oh so gently, squeezed. George's head rolled back and he let out a desperate whine as fire shot through his body and pooled at the base of his spine. Oh fuck, this was good.

Peter's fingers were running over his body again (over his hips, this time), pulling the undergarments with them as they went. The cloth was discarded onto the floor, and then George was naked, wanting and hard under a fully clothed Peter.

It was a curiously erotic sensation, George thought, as Peter pressed his body against his and bent down to kiss him. The soft cloth of Peter's shirt stroked, teased and caressed George's nipples to small, stiff peaks as it hung from his body. The rough denim of his jeans rubbed maddeningly against his erection as one denim-clad leg pushed its way between George's bent legs. Peter's hands rested on George's thighs in a quasi-caress, alternately ghosting over the sensitive flesh and pushing outwards to spread George's legs.

And Peter's mouth- oh Lord, Peter was sucking gently on his bottom lip, scraping his teeth over the swollen flesh and then sucking again until his lips were bruised. Meanwhile, his tongue stroked over the roof of George's mouth, tickling gently before twisting with his tongue. He pulled back for an apologetic sweep over George's lower lip before forcing his tongue back between his lips and licking into his mouth.

Beneath him, George was a shivering wreck. His hands were fisted tight in Peter's shirt, his legs splayed wide open. He arched his back into the lithe, firm warmth above him, but it just wasn't enough. His eyes fluttered shut and he tried to moan, but all that came out was a choked sob. His whole body felt like it was on fire, and the knot in his stomach was getting tighter and tighter. He couldn't think, not like this, only feel. It was all too much.

But one of Peter's hands was running soothingly through his hair, the other stroking his neck while Peter murmured comfortingly in his ear. He wasn't quite sure what was being said – hazy as he was, but the sound was calming to him. He relaxed into the touch, sinking back down onto the bed. That was better.

Then Peter was moving down again, his whole body this time. George felt Peter's skin (soft and smooth and when had he taken his shirt off?) sliding against his body, coming to rest between his legs. Peter's hands (his large, strong hands) were pushing George's legs apart again, exposing him to Peter.

George flushed and tried to close his legs again, but Peter merely held them in place, murmuring a gentle 'I don't think so, my dear.' He would never get used to this – the feeling of being so exposed before someone else. It was humiliating, horrible, and it made him harder then just about anything else.

And Peter knew it. He smirked and moved one hand to skim lightly over the head of George's erection.

"See?" he whispered. The exhaled breath teased at the head of his cock. "See?" He repeated. "You like it, don't you, darling. You like it when I spread your legs for you and make you stay like that, open and ready. You like it when your beautiful little hole is exposed to me, just waiting for me to do whatever I want. I could slide my fingers inside of you and find that one spot that makes you cry out my name, tease it and press it until you're begging me for release – begging me to fuck you nice and hard like the little bitch that you are. And as long as I spread you out, keep you nice and open, you'll let me. In fact, that's exactly what I'm going to do. And when you're begging me to fuck you – when you're so desperate that all you can do is call out for me, I'm going to slide inside of your tight, warm hole and come deep inside of you. You'd like that, wouldn't you, my lovely?"

George tried to nod, say yes, moan- anything. But two slick fingers were gently circling his hole, the pads running lightly over the muscle. George pushed back onto the fingers but they pulled away, keeping the pressure painfully light. He sank back onto the bed and the fingers returned to their previous motions, the tips of perfectly manicured nails scraping over the sensitive ring. George gave a low moan, then gasped in relief as the tips of both fingers breached his hole and pushed inside of him.

Two fingers were a little too much – he hadn't been fucked in a while, consumed as he was by work. But it felt so good to have Peter's long, slender fingers inside of him that he couldn't really bring himself to care. Nevertheless, it did hurt, and he was grateful for the thumb of Peter's other hand rubbing small circles on his hip.

Peter's fingers were buried inside of him, just resting inside. George was just getting used to the sensation when Peter's fingers crooked and gently nudged that small, smooth bundle of nerves inside of him. Then they stayed there, sitting on the bundle and driving him mad.

Peter continued to stroke George's hip until he had relaxed completely, then pressed his fingers down a little harder before releasing and stroking the digits rhythmically over that small nodule.

George's eyes flew open and he growled out a throaty moan. Peter gave a low chuckle, devious and delighted, a sound that went straight to the younger man's cock. Oh good Lord, that felt good.

Peter, determined to have the smug, self assured boy beneath him begging, lifted his fingers slightly before tracing the letters of his name slowly but surely over George's prostate.

P-E-T-E-R. The long strokes of the P and T scraped against the smooth walls of his passage, the lines of the E's skitting across the nerves and feeling like fire.

George gasped, then sobbed when Peters fingers twisted over one another inside of him and pulled out, scraping over the gland once again.

Rubbing more lubricant over his fingers, Peter pushed the two fingers back into George, along with a third. George's fingers tightened in the sheets and he threw his head over to the other side, pressing it against the pillow. The cool sheet pressing against his cheek jarred with the burn he felt when Peter pushed his fingers all the way into him up to the knuckle.

"Peter, please!" George whimpered, as the tip of the index finger rubbed over that special place inside of him. Peter merely laughed and pushed in again. It was quite a sight to see, Peter mused, the tight ring of muscle stretched around his fingers while George lifted himself off the sheets and pushed onto his fingers.

"You look so good like this," Peter smirked, sounding just as detached and gentle as usual, a tone that concealed how painfully hard he was. "so beautiful, just fucking yourself on my fingers like a wanton whore. You need it so much, you need someone to fill you up so badly that you'll take anything, even my fingers. So impatient."

George nodded desperately, probably to far gone to know what he was agreeing with.  
"Yes, Gods, Peter fuck me, please. I want you inside of me so bad. Peter, oh fuck- Peter..."'

Taking pity on him, Peter withdrew his fingers and coated his aching sex in the lube from his fingers and a little more from the bottle. He guided his unsheathed sex to George's stretched little hole, which was gaping open, clenching around thin air in the absence of Peter's fingers.

"Are you sure?" Peter asked, one last time. If George changed his mind then he could put on a condom and enter him as he always did. "Are you sure you want me to do this?"

George nodded fervently.  
"Yes, Peter." He whispered. "I'm sure."

And with no further prompting, Peter pushed the head of his cock against and past the ring of muscle until he was fully buried inside George.

Oh sweet heaven; had the boy always been so hot and tight? Had he always been so deliciously smooth inside, so easy to slide inside of? This was incredible, it felt unlike anything else. It briefly took him back to the days when he had been less cautious and less committed, but even then, he couldn't recall it ever being this good.

Encouraged by George's cries of 'oh, fuck yes, Peter!', he pulled out until only the head of his cock was inside of George then pushed slowly back in. He could feel the walls undulating around him, hugging his cock tight and practically sucking him in.

"So desperate." he teased, angling his hips so that his head rubbed against that spot inside George. "So hungry for my cock and so beautiful."

Slowly he pulled back again before thrusting back inside and marveling once more at how George felt around him. Building to a rhythm he moved his hands from George's waist. One came up to grasp the back of his neck, clutching it tight, while the other grasped his cock firmly with a lube slicked palm and slid up the shaft, his thumb circling the head and pressing into the slit.

With a sudden gasp, George arched sharply off the bed and came, violently. His come spilled between them and over Peter's hand. George collapsed back onto the bed, but Peter wasn't done.  
The sensation of George clenching and contracting around his cock had been far more intense than usual, but still not quite enough to push him over the edge.

While George lay on the mattress, boneless and exhausted, Peter reached down to grip his hips, pulling his lovers body towards him with each thrust. George gave a quiet moan as his over-sensitized passage was stimulated again and again and his prostate attacked, a soft sound that was neither a complaint nor an encouragement.

Then after what seemed like seconds to Peter, he was following George into bliss, spilling his come deep inside of him. Peter sank onto George, still inside of him, and lay there for a few moments before pulling out. George was still motionless, lying there like a great drugged doll, high on the afterglow.

Peter moved down so he could rejoin George at the top of the bed, but as he did so he couldn't help but notice that some of his come was leaking from George's red, puffy hole. Never one to resist temptation, he gathered some on his fingers and pushed it back inside, delighted with how wet and loose George was. He continued to move the fluid back inside his lover's channel until George gave a low whine of 'Peter'.

Laughing again (a warmer, gentler sound this time), Peter moved up the bed and held George to him, running his fingers through thick black curls.

"Thank you, my dear boy." He whispered, while George nuzzled into his neck. "That was perfect."


End file.
